


Souls are like armed battalions

by Kaesteranya



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's obvious to Basch that there's something different in the way that Larsa treats him, but he can't quite figure out what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souls are like armed battalions

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Final Fantasy 12 and before Final Fantasy 12: Revenant Wings. I don’t know a thing about Revenant Wings, so please forgive any inconsistencies.
> 
> The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for August 26, 2005.

It took Basch a month of service in the royal house of Solidor to realize that Prince Larsa — the boy he now served out of love and in honor of the memory of his brother — regarded him differently from everyone else. The young lord had aged immensely with the deaths of his surviving family members and with the loss of the Gabranth, the one other person he had trusted in the Empire: his humor remained and his smiles were as brilliant as ever, but the look in his eyes was still, subdued, unyielding. Those eyes only grew quieter whenever they turned, before the words, in Basch’s direction. Larsa eventually dispelled the moments with an order, an off-hand comment or a smile, but the look always lingered.

Nevertheless, Basch chose not to ask, and did not make any indication that he saw, he noticed, he wondered. He was a good knight and he had no need to know his master’s secrets unless they were personally entrusted to him.

What he had not expected was that Larsa would answer for himself.

 

***

 

“The list, my lord.”

The magistrate presented the scroll with a low bow, and did not straighten up even after he had backed away from the desk. It was hard to tell what Larsa thought of this; the boy only took the scroll and let it unroll itself in his hands as he scanned its contents. He held on to his silence tightly, with pursed lips and hooded eyes — he might have learned that trick from watching his older brother at work, so many years ago.

“I do not know these names,” Larsa said at last, in a cool and dangerously even voice. The magistrate blanched; he bowed his head even lower in an effort to hide it.

“Your Majesty, I-I assure you that—”

“‘That they are all men and women of excellent conduct, impressive prowess and unquestioned loyalty to the Empire?’ That spiel is an old one, lord magistrate, and my ears tire of hearing it.”

“Lord Larsa—”

“I will select new Judge Magisters of _my_ choosing, on _my_ terms,” Larsa cut in, allowing a bit of steel to harden his voice. “You are _dismissed_ , sir.”

If the magistrate had dared to protest any further, his words would have fallen on deaf ears; Larsa had returned to his own paperwork, effectively putting an end to their conversation. The man fled without even attempting to make an ally out of Basch, who was the only other person in the room: even a simpering, empty-headed official like himself knew better than to try. Basch took a moment to watch the magistrate go before he approached the desk.

“They have been putting more pressure on you for an answer lately, my lord. Have you not considered it, at least?”

“I do not intend to give the Senate a new puppet to manipulate. Besides, even if I do need more Magisters, there is no one from whom I can choose from.”

Basch did not answer; the boy spoke true. He stood at attention, watching and waiting until Larsa set the papers aside and looked off, towards the arches and sky beyond his office. He barely heard the boy when he spoke next.

“Do you think of him still?”

“My lord…?”

“Your brother.” It was difficult to read Larsa’s expression. “You are Gabranth to all of Archadia. None but I know that he is dead, and that you have taken his life and name as your own.”

Basch lowered his eyes. The helmet — the mark of a Judge Magister, and the last thing he had left of his brother — felt heavy in his hands, the armor heavy upon his shoulders. “My biggest regret is not thinking of him sooner,” he eventually murmured. “Still, my regret will do little for me now. He asked me to serve you, and so I will.”

“And you are certain of this? You are certain that this is truly what you want?”

“Yes.”

Larsa did not answer: he had turned back to face Basch, with that same quiet look in his eyes. “You look exactly like him,” the boy murmured. “It drives me to distraction.” He smiled, but the gesture was far from happy. Those eyes flinched away. “Forgive me, Basch… I am tired, and I know not what I say.”

“Let me escort you to your chambers, my lord—”

“No need.” Larsa stood up and left his desk, moving past Basch. “Inform my advisors that I am unwell, and will not entertain anyone for the rest of the day.”

And Basch could do nothing but bow his head and obey.

 

***

 

In the next few days that he spent in forced exile from Larsa’s side, Basch learned once again that he truly _was_ alone in the Empire: there was no one to guide him, no one to explain why the one reason he stayed was keeping him at arm’s length. No one even commented on the sudden distance between them, although the magistrates certainly tried to take advantage of it. Them doing so only resulted in several ‘honorable dismissals’ and a Larsa who appeared to be even more distant from Basch than ever before. After a week passed without event, Basch steeled himself and returned to his duties with a vengeance; it would not do to mourn over something that he could not do anything about. That was the only time that something changed.

Larsa appeared at his doorstep early one rainy morning — there had been no warning signs, just nothing one moment and then soft knocking at the door in the next. The young lord smiled right through Basch’s surprised look; it was almost as if he didn’t notice it at all.

“I see I interrupted you during your sword drills. Forgive me.”

“No, my lord, forgive _me_ , I wasn’t expecting—”

“Of course. I should have been prudent enough to send word. May I?”

Basch stepped aside, letting Larsa enter. He lingered by the door, watching the boy move about. No trace of the vulnerability he had seen days back remained, but he still marveled at how small Larsa seemed to him even if he was only standing a few feet away.

“I am in need of an escort. I wish to visit the state cemetery today… it has been a while since I have paid my proper respects to those who have gone ahead of us.”

“The weather is not conducive to your health, my lord.”

“All the more reason why I should go out, Basch. No one will suspect, and therefore, no one will see me but you.”

He was faced with that same look, those same quiet and still eyes. Basch bowed his head, just as he had done in the past.

“Very well. Please give me a moment to prepare.”

And Larsa smiled again. The gesture touched nothing but his lips.

 

The rain washed over Archadia and they walked through it together, Larsa in his thick cloak and Basch in his brother’s armor. The private cemetery of House Solidor was located at the highest pinnacle of the castle, and only members of the house and a few of their most trusted retainers had the honor of being buried there at their passing. When they arrived Basch lingered in the shade of the corridor, unsure of whether it was fit for him to approach. Larsa, however, stopped in front of one of the newer graves and beckoned him forward.

“Judge Magister Drace.” Larsa traced the letters of the name with his fingers. “She was more a mother to me than my own, but that couldn’t have been helped… my real mother died in childbirth.”

Basch did not comment. He knew nothing of the woman, only that Larsa’s request to bury her in the private cemetery had been met with some indignation from the magistrates. He wondered, whether she had known Gabranth, and whether they had been friends.

“I had hoped to bury him here, you know… he deserves to rest in a place like this.” Larsa’s tone was light, casual, strained. “I wonder if it was right of us, scattering his ashes and letting none know that he is dead.”

“It was his request.”

“And now you remain… the one with his name and face.” Larsa paused. The boy kept touching the gravestone of the woman he had considered his mother, as though his fingers needed something real to hold himself steady by. “Would you think me mad, Basch,” he whispered at last, “if I told you that I had loved him?”  
Basch removed his helmet. He moved to stand at Larsa’s side, and took the boy’s hand in his own.

“No.”

The pitter patter of raindrops ate up the silence between them. When Larsa shifted, Basch moved to support him, and let his young lord lean against his shoulder while he prayed.

 

***

 

It stopped raining sometime before sunset. Knocks sounded at Basch’s door in the middle of the night and he woke up instantly, making him wonder if he had ever really been asleep in the first place.

Larsa was at his door again; this did not surprise him. Basch only stepped aside as he had that morning, and the young lord entered. Neither of them said a word.


End file.
